Matthew 22:1-14

There’s a great moment in the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding whereupon finding out the guest of honor is a vegetarian, the over the top Greek aunt says, “That’s okay. I’ll make lamb.” I wasn’t aware lamb wasn’t meat, but the moment demonstrates how central food is to the life of their community. It’s a non-negotiable part of their common life. Whenever they gather, they gather around food.

We really aren’t that different. Think about it: how often do you ever invite guests to your house when you do not plan on giving them food? Even if we have folks over to watch a movie, or play a game of cards – everyone just sort of expects there will be food and drink, because food has this rich connection to hospitality.

Eating is one of the most important communal things we do as a society, and this is actually true of all human societies. We eat together.

When we read the New Testament, we often find Jesus at a table eating food, or at a party drinking wine and celebrating, or telling stories about food—as is the case with this passage. In fact it’s hard to tell the story of Jesus without talking about food.

Several times a year I go on retreat to a Monastery called Conception Abbey in Missouri. I spend a few days by myself almost all day long: quiet, reading, praying. The food up there is pretty bad, so I usually bring my own food to prepare. I make my own breakfast and lunch, take it to my room, and eat by myself. And it always feels odd to do this—to sit by myself and eat. It’s just a strange feeling. I usually grab a book or something to distract from the loneliness of eating by myself in silence.

In the evenings sometimes I drive into the nearby town for dinner. There’s a main drag in Maryville, MO and nearly every restaurant in town is on that strip. There’s a local bar and grill, a Mexican restaurant, a Chinese buffet, barbeque, pizza, fast food, it’s all there. What’s weird is that I can never decide where to stop. I’ll drive up and down the strip several times looking at every restaurant, totally paralyzed and unable to decide where to eat.

I am not an indecisive person. When headed out to eat with my family I have no problems making my opinion known. But when I’m all alone I can’t make up my mind, I think, in part because food is so integrally connected to hospitality and community.

When we eat we usually have to make space for the “other.” And when there is no “other” to share it with, it throws me off my game.

The bible teaches that the gospel has this intrinsic connection to food, and to hospitality. The question was never whether there would be food in this kingdom Jesus was ushering in. The question—at least in this passage—concerns who is invited, and who will attend.

The parable in Matthew 22:1-14 is a straightforward allegory of salvation history that makes two strong theological points.

First, (v.1-3) there is a judgment upon Israel, for although they have been invited to the party they are too busy to come. The initial sending of the prophets was to invite Israel to the party, but Israel’s prophets were ignored. A follow up invitation would come through the prophetic Christian missionaries, most of whom were mistreated killed (v.4-6). So the ragamuffins (both the good and the bad) are brought to the banquet instead, while the king destroyed those who rejected the offer (this is most likely Matthew’s interpretation of the destruction of Jerusalem as God’s judgment upon Israel).

Second, some of the ragamuffins who are gathered into the banquet will be unwilling to dress appropriately. Conversion in scripture is sometimes pictured as the wearing of new clothes. New clothes, new identity, it’s all meant to signify relinquishing an old way of life for a new one. Some of those who show up to the banquet will do so disingenuously. They will be unwilling to be faithfully among the guests, and thus will be doing great damage to the feast. The king will deal with them harshly.

Could it be that for all of us, just like for the children of Israel, there will always be plenty of legitimate reasons for missing out on the party God is throwing? All of our excuses will make perfect sense from a practical point of view. I’m busy. It’s too risky. It goes against social norms of my culture.

Jesus seems to be saying, “I’m throwing a different kind of party and none of the beautiful people are going to want to come because this party is for the ragamuffins of the world.” The party will still be luxurious, but the luxurious people will be otherwise occupied and thus will miss out altogether.

The only ones who actually seem to have time to come to this banquet are, to say the least, a mixed bag—both good and bad.

Could there be a better description of American life? We have so much in our society, why would we even need to rely on God? Why pray for healing when we’ve got doctors, hospitals, and antibiotics. Why pray for our daily bread when we have jobs and can buy our own? Why pray for shelter when I’ve got a great house? We don’t need this banquet.

If you’re wondering why the church is struggling to fill the banquet hall, maybe it’s because our prospective guests have everything they need.

Apparently God is unwilling to force anyone to come to this party. God will find those who have no better place to be, no better place to turn. God is looking for people who are aware of how much they could use a good meal, and some friends to share it with.

Yet even among the ragamuffins there will be some who are unwilling to put on the garment appropriate to the banquet. Becoming a disciple of Jesus involves the relinquishment of all other identities, all other kinds of clothes we are tempted to wear.

In the ancient world every civic or religious group had a meal. If you had a group, then you had a meal. Mourners shared a specific meal. Trade guilds and professional groups had their own meal. Religious associations, religious parties (Pharisees, Zealots, Sadducees, etc.) all had a meal. Philosophical schools had their own meal. The central activity that would exemplify most group identity was a common meal.

Jesus constantly used the table as a means of declaring friendship, and community with (typically) all the wrong people. How many times did Jesus eat with tax collectors & sinners? How many times did he eat with women or lepers? Women were supposed to serve. Lepers were supposed to hide. So when Jesus shares a meal with these people—the people who were counted out by the religious elites—he is claiming solidarity with them. They are in his group. Community membership is expressed in a meal.

Jesus extends an invitation to us all. We’re invited to a banquet called the kingdom of God, a never-ending feast that is unlike anything we’ve been able to imagine before. If we are too busy or self-satisfied, then we’ll see no reason to attend. If we do attend, then all of our relationships will have to change. We will be clothed in new clothes fit only for those ready to celebrate the bridegroom.

One day there will be such a banquet. In the meantime the church is meant to be the first fruits of the kingdom. We sponsor a weekly feast that is a precursor to the real meal… hors d'oeuvres perhaps? I don’t mean to be crass. On the contrary, I mean us to take seriously how important our weekly gathering around the body and blood of Jesus should be.

Eugene Peterson once wrote: “My conviction is that the church is the community that God has set at the center of the world to keep the world centered.” That seems right to me.

You see, Jesus Christ is the living bond between God and people. The church is the bond between the world and Jesus Christ. This meal continually makes and remakes us in the image of Christ; and then we are plopped down in the world to show the world what it means to be a human being as God intended that to be. And part of how we are transformed is through this common meal we share every week as a part of worship.

Then we are sent out into the world, Jesus taught in the Sermon on the Mount, to be salt. We’re supposed to have a flavor. Our faith should give our lives a different character, a wholly different taste than the rest of the culture. If our lives don’t have this flavor, then they are actually doing great damage.

It’s not lost on me that the ones consigned to hell in the story are the religious people who refuse to dress appropriately (live faithfully) among those at the banquet.

Through Jesus’s body and blood given for us, we can become a part of this new humanity gathered at the banquet. We are part of a new community. And in this new community special status is given to those who are left out of the other banquets.

This is good news if you feel fragile, if you feel broken and vulnerable, if you are afraid, or if you have been left behind. You are welcome at this table. If you don’t feel those things, then Jesus seems to think you may not have a good grasp on reality. You need to change your clothes and join the club because we are all: fragile, broken, vulnerable, scared…

And yet, we are invited to the feast not as some lowly poor person who is there only to make the special ones feel superior to the rest. No, you are now an honored guest. Invited to feast on Christ. And when we do we are transformed by his sacrifice—transformed personally but perhaps more importantly in our relationships to one another, especially with the most vulnerable among us.

In the end we are sent back out into the countryside to bear witness to the banquet—to let the world feast on our lives and our stories and someday join the banquet.